Making it in Toledo

Garden lessons

I welcome daylight savings time, as it seems like one of the first signs of spring. I’ll be checking my gardens for snowdrops today and hopefully I will see early leaf buds on the spirea hedge I attacked last fall. Spirea is a flowering shrub that has been very popular for generations, including whichever generation planted our hedge between one hundred years ago, when our house was built, and almost forty years ago, when we moved in. It’s said to be very hardy, but requires more maintenance than we gave it. The branches had grown sideways and become entangled, and the plants hardly bloomed at all. So last year, in a burst of energy, I cut everything way back. I think the variety we have is Van Houtte. From what I’ve read, if we water and feed the hedge this year, it may fill in and eventually be beautiful again.

Holding out hope for this and the rest of the 12 spireas that make up our hedge…

We also have red-twig dogwoods, which we planted to replace a crabapple in the front when it went down in a windstorm, several years ago. In order to encourage the red color, it’s necessary to periodically remove at least a third of the old branches. I did that last year, ignoring the dangers of scratched arms and occasional exposure to poison ivy. The effort paid off; I love the red shoots that replaced the old, brittle branches I cut off.

Enjoying the color of this and the other red-twig dogwoods I planted and pruned…

Is there a metaphor here?

Perhaps reluctantly influenced by Marie Kondo, I’m determined to prune my interiors, too. I don’t require that everything spark joy, but I’m hoping to remove enough clutter to encourage a bit more calm and relaxation in certain rooms.

Maybe not a third of the old stuff, though…

Maybe I just like to chew…

Lately I’ve been craving comfort food. Along with everybody else, I’ve been making soups and stews and cheesy casseroles. That’s the sort of food I remember my mother making. Today I decided to make a cake I remember from my childhood, Velvet Lunch Cake. I have an old, stained and torn recipe card, but I decided to google it, too. There it was: sour milk, a little bit of molasses, warm spices. Shortening. I remember my mother using Crisco, but the google result suggested Spry. I opted for butter. The posted recipe omitted the flour, which could have led to disaster but somehow was not mentioned in the handful of comments.. Instead of “chopped raisins” I used dried cranberries and diced dried apricot.

The cake was just as I remembered it. Not too sweet. Sprinkled with confectioners sugary in lieu of frosting. A tea cake, a snack cake, a cake to share in the mid-afternoon because dinner seems so far away.

I like to think that fifty years from now someone will remember Velvet Lunch Cake.

All food is comfort food. Maybe I just like to chew. Lewis Black

Seeking suggestions…

“Always be a beginner at something.” Damon Brown

Last week I attended a book launch party and met Damon Brown, author, consultant, and entrepreneur. I bought his new book, Bring Your Worth, and also an earlier release, The Ultimate Bite-Sized Entrepreneur Trilogy. A veteran of multiple start-ups, Brown offers advice and tips to non-traditional entrepreneurs.

I do not think of myself as entrepreneurial in the least, but I’ve just read some great advice. In a chapter called “After the Win” Brown points out the vulnerability that follows a victory and cautions: “Always be a beginner at something.” That’s a message I need to hear, and I heard it loud and clear.

Last week for a family birthday I made this cake, slightly adapted from Nigella Lawson’s version. It was wonderful. I knew it would be wonderful, since I’ve made it multiple times. Last night for a dinner with friends I served “Vaguely Vietnamese” pork tacos from a NYT recipe. Delicious, but no surprises.

It makes me happy to do something well, and often that something is cooking/entertaining. For a few weeks I want to be a beginner more often. Maybe new recipes and new ingredients. Maybe more adventurous guest lists. Maybe something non-cooking-related. Not crazy things (I’m not an athlete and I don’t enjoy watching sports) . Not things that feel like work. Fun things.

Suggestions welcome.

Cold, but organized…

I grew up in New York State’s North Country. Below-zero cold was not unusual. Mountains of snow were the norm in the winter, although we were actually north of the “snow belt” which lies east of Lake Ontario. After every big snow, my uncle Howard (“Brig”) Young would come by with his snowplow-equipped Jeep. When he left we had a clear driveway flanked by snow cliffs from which we occasionally dug play-caves (an activity that would certainly be discouraged today). I remember all-over-frosted storm windows and using a hair dryer on car doors too frozen for the key to fit.

These days my car has a remote starter and heated seats, but I am still dreading the frigid weather predicted for this week and considering the option of cancelling all my appointments on Wednesday. Perhaps I’ve become addicted to comfort.

There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. Jane Austin

After a couple of days of being comfortable at home, though, I find myself inventing errands. ” I should really go to Costco for gas while the price is low.” “I need to go to Target.” “I’m all out of sweet vermouth.” Crucial things like that.

After several years I’ve adjusted to being retired. But, because John was still working until a few months ago, I still knew what a weekend is. The absence of a work-imposed structure is a mixed blessing, I’m still trying to accommodate that, and I’ve ordered a new tool to help me. I love to-do lists. I’m a doodler. I take notes in meetings to help me remember what I’ve promised to-do. And I have a real weakness for blank journals. As a result, I have stacks of cute notebooks but often can’t find the info I need. So I ordered a refillable Filofax organizer in pillar-box red. When it came I was shocked by the size and weight of it; apparently I had overestimated both how much info I want to record and my willingness to carry it around. My purchase is on its way back to the warehouse and I’m eagerly awaiting its replacement, still pillar-box red but half the size. I’m hoping it helps me to feel organized. Cold, but organized.

A short visit to New Orleans

We try to get to New Orleans at least every couple of years. Here are a few things I love about the Crescent City, in no particular order:

Glitz: feathers and sequins and fake fur look better here. Tonight’s lift driver, Dominique, picked us up after our dinner at N7, a trendy French restaurant in a rough neighborhood.. She drove a 2015 Mitsubishi Mirage with the steering wheel and both front seats wrapped in hot pink fur. It was too dark for a picture, but I admired it, quite sincerely. And the costumes on the parade bands! And even the beads hanging from the trees. It just would not work anywhere except New Orleans.

Street names: I walked from lunch at my favorite lunch spot, Cochon, on Tchopitoulas to the French Quarter. All of the streets change their names at Canal Street. Carondelet becomes Bourbon, St. Charles becomes Royal. Camp becomes Chartres (pronounced ‘Charters’) where I visited my favorite French Quarter shop, Wise Buys) and Magazine becomes Decatur.. “That’s because the Americans had to name their own streets in the American Sector, they could not use the French Quarter street names. The French and Spanish could live together, but they would not be forced to live with the Americans or the English. They wanted the division of Canal Street to be obvious.”

While riding in a Lyft back to a shop on Prytania, I saw the classically names streets: Calliope, Clio, Erato, Thalia, Melpomene, Terpsichore, Euterpe. While I”m not moving to NOLA anytime soon, I am rather envious of those addresses.

Restaurants including Cochon where I ordered my usual oyster and bacon sandwich. But especially restaurants that are not in the guidebooks: On Sunday we finally made it to Rosedale, owned by Susan Spicer, whose Bayona is on all the lists. We drove by Rosedale twice before we found it. But I had the best Bloody Mary ever.

Sunday evening we returned to Paladar, on Marigny Street, since we wanted to end up on Frenchmen Street for the music. The setting was elegant, the pasta was delicious, and we recognized the waitress from last year’s visit by her gorgeous tatoos.

Quirky things that seem to make no sense. Why, on a block where bars and restaurants crowd up against hotels and massage joints, is there a Pharmacy Museum?

We didn’t get much music on this visit. Arriving on Sunday and leaving on Tuesday narrowed our options. On past visits we’ve enjoyed music in bars, restaurants, hotels, churches, and on the street.

Before we leave we’ll explore history with a visit to the Cabildo to learn more about the Baroness de Pontalba . A short visit, but I plan to return.

Something about that city…

I remember, when I was growing up, knowing old people who saved EVERYTHING. One uncle had a giant ball of foil, probably the wrapper from every stick of gum he had ever chewed. Someone else made a ball of rubber bands. Stacks of shoe boxes. Closets full of cottage cheese cartons. The explanation often was that after living through the Depression they would always anticipate scarcity. My grandmother died wearing an old nightgown, with drawers full of fancy lingerie she was saving in case she ever needed them.

I don’t have the excuse of living through the Depression. And I don’t anticipate scarcity. I don’t hoard (too much) useless stuff. I use the pretty glasses and I wear my best clothes. But I hate to waste anything.

Thats’ why we’re going to New Orleans next week. I couldn’t waste my Delta companion ticket by letting it expire! So we’ll arrive Friday morning at Louis Armstrong airport, pick up a car, and make our first stop at Cochon for an oyster and bacon sandwich, always my first meal (and often my last as well) when I visit the Big Easy.

Then we’ll travel upriver for two nights to visit a friend in Baton Rouge, my first time there. I’ve been promised boudin balls and mini crawfish pies on the edge of Cajun country, offset by grilled fish dinners and other somewhat lighter fare.

Back to NOLA on Sunday. We are planning to (over)fill two days with eating, drinking, music, golf (for John) and shopping (for me). A quick visit, but we’ll hit the highlights. There will be surprises; there are always surprises in New Orleans. I can’t wait!

“there was something about
that city, though
it didn’t let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
needed. it let me alone.”
― Charles Bukowski

Approaching 2019, slowly…

Some years we party, and some years we stay home for New Years Eve. Tonight we’re staying in, but I have high hopes of being awake at midnight and kicking off the year I’ll turn 69.

Social media is full of fireworks tonight. The best fireworks I ever saw were in 2007 in Puebla, Mexico, at a Slow Food Congress. We’d just started our local chapter and I was incredibly lucky to be one of 600 delegates to the first international Slow Food event to be held outside of Italy.

The discussions were long and earnest, but there were plenty of breaks, during which generous trays of mezcal and pulque shots were passed, paired with freshly fried chicharrones and a (successful, I think) attempt to create the largest-ever gathering of mariachis . One meal featured an appetizer of fried grasshoppers. Another highlighted chiles en nogada.

After one day’s sessions, we boarded buses and were driven to a dark mountain outside of town (a volcano, I suppose). Eerie music helped build the anticipation. The moon was full. It was not hard to believe that the costumed figures which visited us were really ancient gods returning to help us celebrate. The highlight for me was being there with Alice Waters, although the closest I got to her was standing in line in the ladies’ room.

The sendoff on our last day was a giant snail, which turned out to be the launching pad for the aforementioned fireworks.

I learned a lot from Slow Food during the 10 years I helped lead our local chapter. One thing I learned was that it took a lot of work to keep the group together. I hope 2019 brings some new energy to Slow Food Maumee Valley.

Margaritas and the moon goddess…

Yes, I know it’s Christmas Eve. I’ve had a week of sunshine and relaxation in Mexico, where the toughest decision was pool or beach. Looking forward to celebrating with Ann Arbor family today, with ages ranging from 3 1/2 year old Aloisa to John’s 97-year old mother. All my children will be home with us for a couple of days later this week! The Christmas tree is lovely. I love the wreaths and the candles on the front of the house. Seeing the world, and especially the holidays, in the company of a three-year old is truly joyful. I am fortunate, and I am grateful.

Although it’s a little early, I’ve begun to think about what I want to do differently in 2019. I want to eliminate more clutter (progress is slow, but real). I want to cook more meat-free meals (love you, Rancho Gordo). I want to eat them more slowly, and more often with friends. I want to be thoughtful about giving, whether it’s money or time or energy. I want to support women.

While we were in Mexico we visited Isla Mujeres for a couple of days. We were there for the solstice and the full moon. We stayed center island near the port and ate at hole-in-the-wall places with big margaritas. The north end of the island was crazy busy with taxis, scooters, golf carts, endless shops, and people. We didn’t stop for all that, but away from that center, after a windy ride in our own rented cart, we found the women’s beading co-operative, where we bought gifts for ourselves, family and friends.h

But for me the best was Punta Sur, where we saw the remains of a temple to the Mayan goddess Ixchel. Modern sculptures have been installed and are rapidlly weathering in the heat and the winds. Countless visitors have been moved to pile stones or leave messages. It’s a magical place where somehow the mystique remains, and I am inspired.

Using both my hands…

Tonight was my last Pathway board meeting, and a chance to reflect on my first meeting, in January 2103. It was horrendous. So bad that the agency had hired security for the meeting. After a discussion of ongoing problems, including threats to the long-term cash cow Head Start, we voted to fire the director. Board members, including the chair. claimed not to have seen the repeated warnings and extensive communications from the funder pointing out continuing deficiencies and threatening the loss of the grant. As a new board member I wondered what I was getting into. I wondered that a lot over the next several months, especially after Head Start was in fact lost, eliminating about 60% of agency revenue almost overnight. Thanks to City and County support and financial commitment, we survived.

Then at the end of that year I agreed to chair the board. Board chairmanship became a part-time unpaid job for me. With great hope, we hired a new director, but within a year he left under a cloud. We hired another new director. For several years I worked with her to make connections externally and, internally, to create a culture focused on the mission and the “customers” (I’ve always preferred “clients”) and their ever-growing needs. I got to know some of the younger board members and recruited my successor as board chair. Today the agency, according to its own self-assessment, is not yet thriving, but is safe or at least stable and improving. I’m pretty sure I helped. I know I learned a lot. I made new friends. I have no regrets about the many hours I spent as a Pathway board member. I have high hopes for the new board.

I’ve occasionally been described as (accused of?) trying to save the world. I’m not sure why that’s a problem, but in fact I only admit to trying to make the world a little better. I’ve already begun a new volunteer commitment. I couldn’t look in the mirror if I didn’t accept some civic responsibility.

As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands — one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.” — Audrey Hepburn

Just Another Manic Monday

Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

I’ll probably never be a vegetarian, but I agree with Michael Pollan on this. And I know that changing the way we eat could go a long way toward slowing down climate change. So I’m pledging myself (and those I cook for) to Meatless Mondays. Here’s how I started:

It’s a winter panzanella with butternut squash, red onion, and old bread. With a yoghurt tahini dressing and pomegranate seeds. I didn’t miss the meat.

I know, I know, Slow Food is elitist and Alice Waters doesn’t live in the real world. I met her once, in the ladies room at a magical Slow Food conference in Puebla Mexico. I have most of her cookbooks. A trip to Northern California wouldn’t be complete without a visit to Chez Panisse. I confess; I’m a fangirl. Sometimes when I am considering a clothing purchase I ask myself if Alice would wear it.

Alice would definitely not be seen in what I wore today. I took Aloisa to Fresh Market (she was disappointed that none of the frozen chicken strips were dinosaur-shaped, as are those her dad buys her at Kroger). Since it is Hanukah I had promised her gelt, but she spotted the chocolate Christmas bears too, and I couldn’t say no. We followed that with a trip with a visit to Home Depot, since she wanted to ride in “the car carts” and we’re in the market for more mouse traps. Now that the weather limits outdoor play, we need to make our basement kid-friendly, including going to war with the rodents.

It’s a new month. It’s a new week. I’m still trying to make a difference.